Review of the season - part one - the play
1999-2000 - Hego's Season
Prologue
Coming first is not everything, but coming second is
nothing. So said Sir Peter Blake of Team New Zealand when the sheep rearing ex-convicts
won some yachting thing. What a load of garbage. Tell that to Stan Ternent, Barry Kilby,
Andy Payton or the Claret hoards who ran onto the pitch at the end of the last game of the
season at Scunthorpe, as coming second can be everything. There were however significant
parts of the season when sixth place would have been deemed by the majority of Clarets to
be a success, a point which the mid-season London Clarets' website
survey emphasised.
However I digress. Others have written far more cogent
summaries of the past season. Indeed our very own match reports
provide the detail of every match played, for which each of the authors is to be
congratulated. The piece of paltry prose which follows is merely a personal pastiche of
the sometimes painful, often piquant, palpitating pursuit of perfection that is a Claret
promotion.
Act One Scene One
– Hope Springs Eternal
The ides of August. The Soothsayer predicted the first
point ever achieved at Adams Park, and so it came to pass. The
defence was pulled around a bit by McSporran (!) and Devine, which was not good, but
Cookey’s strike certainly was good. Feng Shui worked a treat here, as the away end
behind the goal was forsaken for a south facing aspect on the away long side. One up for
ancient Lancastrian mysticism. Passed on the Chesterfield game,
as I had much more interesting paint drying to observe.
The boys played exceptionally well at Maine Road, before City ran up a second half score Brian Lara
would have been proud of. Premier League in waiting, but we couldn’t have suspected
this at the time. As ever, Bristol Rovers away was the mother
of all day picnics, but will be remembered for some time for one of the worst refereeing
performances I have ever seen at this level. A hex on you Mr Hill of Royston, may you
never darken our turf again. A few beans short of a tin methinks. Undeserved defeat but
third in the league at the end of the month.
My abiding memories of September in no particular order
are, good wins at home to Colchester and Bournemouth,
the Padiham Predator’s 150th league goal, top of the league (yeees), and
more worryingly the loss of opportunity at both Deepdale and Ashton Gate. Nob End were certainly at this time in the midst of
their poorest form of the season, and Bristol City were unexpectedly bad. In each game the
Clarets scrambled to 0-0 with fifteen minutes to go, then adopted the Churchillian
philosophy of ‘call on whichever God you feel closest to and hold tight’. A
strategy akin to the history of Torvill and Dean’s dancing prowess entitled
‘Shows how far you can go skating on thin ice’. Not for the weak hearted, but
second in the table.
Act One Scene Two
– Camera Shy
Following hard upon an embarrassing home draw with Brentford notable for a 45 yarder from Paul Evans, was the
habitual loss when the cameras arrive at the Turf. Scunthorpe
this time, which given the end of season scenario had a touch of irony. The clichés flowed, cotton mills, proud tradition and weight of
expectation, but Guy Ipouea ebbed to great effect. We were rubbish, but at least there was
no long return rail journey to make matters worse.
The annual trip to buy parsley and to nod close
acquaintance with flying bottles at London Bridge is always a joy and a delight. The Zoo
that is the New Den provided endless amusement including a
first half as good as any all season, but only a one goal lead. Points drifting away after
a 1-1 draw and a spirited second half from Millwall, but still sixth in the League.
Finished October with a midweek visit to the allotments
in Cambridge, and a comfortable win. Cookey again in his only
good scoring run of the season. Will quite miss these visits to the old university towns,
in a curious sort of way.
November after thrashing Wrexham,
was a tale of three away games realising only two points at Luton,
Reading and Wigan. Our recent good
form at Luton was bound to end eventually, and so it came to pass, despite a last minute
almost equalising headed goal from The Legend, which was well saved. Love the hospitality
window boxes on the long side at Kenilworth Road, and particularly the antics of one of
the prats therein who tried to piss-take the Clarets' away following, single-handedly.
Symptomatic of a pebble dashed mind.
The only positive aspect of note from the non-smoking
Madejski Stadium was the complete absence of waste tip ethane in the away end as distinct
from last season. This made the wearing of gas masks purchased prior to the game more of a
fashion accessory than a necessity. Despite the occasionally amusing eccentricity of the
referee (!) Mr Lynch, the game improved in the second half, almost touching the giddy
heights of mediocrity. The worst game of the season, and two easy points dropped.
The chaos at the JJB Stadium will live for ever as the
ultimate example of how not too steward a large vociferous away crowd. Hilarious. Believe
firmly that the ex b*****d Wigan chairman Whelan needs a grey cell infusion. Why throw so
much money at a soccer team where the town just does not want to know? Where was Bond? I
looked at all the stewards I saw in the ground, and didn’t recognise him. Played well
again, and came away with a singleton points haul.
Still in the top six, and amazingly after Barnet and Rotherham, in the third
round of the FA Cup for a change!
Act Two Scene One
– The F.A. (ex Man Utd) Cup
December, a month dominated by the Derby County game. Didn’t managed to make it myself under
doctor’s orders, despite the London Clarets' kind offer to push the required
wheelchair to the ground via all the real ale pubs in Derby. Interesting day monitoring
all available methods of tracking news of the game for an alternative
match report, but not a day’s activity to be recommended. A match report written
without visiting the game, sounds familiar!
On to Coventry and a ground
tick. Since the rebuilding of the Turf, we have always assumed we have a Premier League
standard stadium. With the possible assumption of the Burnley cricket field area, and the
consequent rebuilding of that stand, this would become even more so. Well if Highfield
Road is anything to go by, then our facilities would certainly grace the Premier now. What
a dump. Outdone by the Coventry Arabs on the field that day, but the team played well in
defeat, and the away following was special, as remarked upon by the Coventry fans. Back to
the league, which was not necessarily a bad thing.
Managed only two league games in the December/January
period for various reasons, which was dispiriting. One a Glen Little master class in a 2-1
home win against Cardiff, the other the Brett Angell show at Notts County. There have always been certain strikers who you can
guarantee will score against us, and Angell is one. Can’t believe we lost this game,
and feel things are slipping a little. Missed the Gigg Lane
fiasco, which was at least some consolation. Still in playoff position.
Act Two Scene Two
– The Messiah Cometh?
Believe firmly that February was a critical
month of the season in the run up to promotion. Missed Glen Little’s Pele impression
against Bristol Rovers, but have seen the repeats almost as
many times as the BBC have shown The Great Escape. A good win at Bournemouth,
which has never been a barrel of laughs result wise for us in the past, was quickly
forgotten as Wright mania hit the club. The circumstances
surrounding and leading up to the Wigan home draw have passed
in to folklore. Like him or not, you cannot underestimate the fillip it gave to the whole
club at a critical time. Almost forgotten are the good chances he missed to win us the
game. However, full credit to Thomas, Kilby, Ternent and the Burnley FC back room staff,
who all contributed to an unforgettable period in the life of BFC. Lest we not forget, a
creditable away win at our perennial whipping boys Colchester
kept us in the hunt. Have they ever taken a point from us?
Act Three –
Countdown
March, of course, started badly with the
convincing home defeat by Nob End, followed then by Luton in a Turf downpour. Started the former game well, but the
headless chicken impressions around the team pre-empted the brainless sending off of Mr
West. Believe at that moment the only mates Mr West could have had in the ground were in
the toilet vending machines. The exit of Gregan injured by a vigorous Johnrose challenge
was the only highlight. Those who live by the sword sometimes are rewarded in kind. The
doubts surfaced, but we were still in play-off position. The final eleven games would sort
out the ordinary humble liquorice all-sorts from the very excellent round coconut sweets.
A public spectacle with an almost religious dimension. Well sort of!
Blackpool away was the usual
midweek hard graft for a point, enlivened by the abuse quite correctly meted out to the
three ex b*****ds in their ranks. Notable also for a rubbish performance by our midfield,
with all the substance of a piece of over ripe Camembert. Cardiff
was and is the pits of the world for a footy game. The whole day had the sort of
atmosphere NASA sends unmanned probes to. Nevertheless three points, no goals for Nogan,
but the maestro Little got himself sent off. Suspension at this time of the season,
critical.
Millwall at home was a hoot,
a cracking game made even more special by the return of the Longside roar to counteract
the rather alarming animal noises emanating from the away end. Great atmosphere, superb
goals, almost spoilt by yet another of Mr West’s party piece’s, which let
Millwall back in to the game. Brentford away was the last real
hurdle to overcome. The Bees' surprisingly spirited performance was handled well by the
boys, as we then looked forward to judgement day on May 6th.
Epilogue - If
Stan says it's Xmas, we all sing carols
It is said that with maturity comes the
sweeping realisation that most ambitions are fantasies. Well either I’m still a child
yet or the events of the 6th May 2000 didn’t happen. Probably the former.
The game itself has passed in to Claret folk-lore, the days events admirably described by
others, particularly Firmo’s diary. As for myself I think I
can quite safely say that I passed the DHS guidance for normal male alcohol consumption of
28 units of per week, in half a day, somewhere between Scunthorpe
and Kings Cross. The phone call to Bazza Kilby, the unbelievable lack of Champagne
supplies on East Coast Line trains, the very reasonable train conductor, the two old
regimental reunion boys who joined in the celebrations. All part of a controlled madness
that the average young Claret can usually only dream about. Stan was right all along.
Hego
September 2000
Part Two - the players
Links - Season reviews from Cozzo, Firmo,
Tim Quelch, Phil Whalley and Igor Wowk
